


Eat Your Heart Out

by catholicschoolgirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cannibalism, M/M, Murder, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholicschoolgirl/pseuds/catholicschoolgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry knew the moment that he locked eyes on the boy that he was The One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat Your Heart Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [handcversbruise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handcversbruise/gifts).



> So I jokingly told Fee something to the effect of "I couldn't write a true love story even if I tried because it would probably end with cannibalism." And here we are! 
> 
> I wrote this in like 30 minutes, nobody beta read it, it's awful, this is clearly all fucked up lies, etc.

Harry knew the moment that he locked eyes on the boy that he was The One – his One True Love. Chestnut brown hair, piercing blue eyes, tanned skin and a slight figure where he danced, drunk and uncoordinated, on the other side of the room, he was a visual feast. And Harry _wanted_ him, wanted him in the basest, most primal way, wanted to take him and mark him, parade him in front of the entire universe as his to hold, his to caress, his to destroy. It had nothing to do with love, or fate – this wasn't that type of story. It was all about consumption, about the selfish pursuit of his own urges, about getting what he fucking deserved. Harry had worked hard in life – sacrificing everything to become a somebody – and it was about time he got to reap some of the rewards of his new-found fame and success.

Not to mention that these days, Harry almost always got what he wanted. Luring this boy in would help guarantee that he would _never_ be turned down again.

Harry flagged down the bartender, ordering one last shot and making his way through the club, in between sweaty bodies until Harry was standing in front of the boy, brown hair plastered to the side of his face, his eyes unfocused once they locked onto Harry's.

“Oh my God,” the boy slurred. “You're – ”

“Yeah,” Harry interrupted, wanting to get past all of the starfucker shit as quickly as possible. That was one of the few things Harry missed about anonymity – people not gaping at you all the fucking time like you were an animal in the zoo. People pursuing you for something tangible about you – your charm, your wit, your smile, and not just because you were seen hanging out with some model once. “What's your name, though?”

“Louis,” the boy yelled over the trembling bass. “Louis Tomlinson.”

“Louis,” Harry repeated. “Wanna dance?”

“Y-yeah,” Louis stuttered, damn near jumping in his haste to oblige Harry. Harry rolled his eyes, endeared despite himself, and brought Louis flush against his hips, grinding into him slow and filthy to the beat, trying to communicate through the thrum of his fingers where this was heading, how this night was going to end. Louis seemed to pick up on it immediately, throwing his head back and rubbing his ass against Harry's crotch, bearing his neck. Harry couldn't help himself, was drawn to the sheen of sweat and the slight tremble of Louis' skin, felt almost like a vampire when he latched his lips to Louis' pulse point, swiping his tongue through the salty taste of Louis before biting down. Louis trembled underneath Harry's palms, his whole body stuttering, so Harry kept with it, running his lips all over Louis and letting his hands wander, tugging on hair, scratching along collarbones, cupping Louis through the tight jeans he was wearing. They were making a scene and Harry couldn't give a fuck, couldn't want until the inevitable finale, trying to force himself to be patient and savor this moment, savor the content hums Louis made as Harry tore him apart with deft fingers that almost felt soft.

They ended up in a bathroom stall without exchanging any other words, the DJ spinning Frank Ocean as Harry pushed Louis up against a door, ignoring Louis' lips to instead push his shirt up and over his head, dropping it on the floor as Harry scratched blunt fingernails over Louis' nipples and sucked bites into his chest. Louis was pleading – wanting desperately for Harry to kiss him as though this was some stupid romance novel – but Harry didn't pay him any mind, instead pressing one hand against Louis' thickening cock through the denim, using the other to scratch at Louis' side so hard that it split the skin. Louis cried out but pushed his cock further against Harry's hand, almost in spite of himself, as Harry licked against the small wound.

“Please, Harry,” Louis said. “ _Please_.”

Harry pushed Louis' pants down and slid down to his own knees, saying nothing as he spat into his palm and began stroking Louis, taking Louis' cock into his mouth with no further preamble. Louis let out a hiss and banged his head against the door, crying out completely unabashedly. Louis didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, didn't appear to know whether he was allowed to touch Harry or not, so he braced them on either side of the stall, letting out a long contented groan when Harry relaxed his throat and swallowed Louis' cock deeper, closing his eyes at the familiar sensation. Harry would be feeling this tomorrow, he could tell already – would remember how Louis' girth stretched his lips, the way Louis respectfully kept himself from barreling down Harry's throat, Louis' high keen as he came.

Harry would remember it all, but he would remember the next part with striking clarity, when Louis slumped to the floor in front of Harry, cock still comically outside of his jeans, panting as he came down from his orgasm. His heart was pounding so hard, he was so _alive_ – and Harry was high off the thought when he removed the knife he had taken to carrying from his pocket, shoving it into Louis' chest.

The Illuminati were an odd sort. Harry had always assumed the whole thing was a load of shit, but they had approached him at his old label, told him of everything he could have. They just needed one thing.

“You're going to have to kill your One True Love,” they had said, all cold detachment. “Kill them, and then eat their heart. We'll know when it's happened. And you'll know, too. The whole world will be at your feet.”

“How will I know they're my One True Love?” Harry had asked. They had told him, later, that's when they knew he was truly destined to join their ranks. Other people would be too disgusted by the entire idea – murder and cannibalism weren't for the faint of heart, of course. Harry, though – Harry was already thinking ahead to the logistics, of the how and not the why.

Louis cursed as Harry removed the knife. Harry kind of felt bad about it – Louis was The One, after all. If this were a different sort of story, they would've gotten together and had some babies or something. But this was Harry's story, his romance with money, power, and fame, so instead he just thrust in once more, tearing through skin and tendon to get to what Harry wanted in the basest, most primal way, Louis' still fluttering heart, consuming it in a dingy bathroom stall and letting the blood of his One True Love coat his tongue, his fingers, his chin. All Harry could think of as Louis' glassy eyes gazed up at him was how he was going to be unstoppable from now on.

 

**Author's Note:**

> What is even wrong with me


End file.
